You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
whether I took
my pills today or not.
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
The love of my life
left me after
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
"Will she tie my
when I get old? "
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
I have learned to say thanks
... It's free
I can not remember that I sat on your lap when I was little
How delightful it is to have a child on my lap
I can not remember no one hugs
Today I hug you often
You feel discomfort
I have learned to be helpful
... It's free
I learned to tie my shoelaces
.... Where were you
I have learned to be kind
.... It's free
I learned to ride a bike
... Where were you
A sister and a brother
moved many miles from their childhood home
I went to school - I became an adult
.... Where were you
I got my own family
A home created along with my dear husband
... A beautiful child and grandchildren
... Where were you
I taught them to say thank you and share many warm hugs .... love
You need me now, to master your life
.... It's free
I am here for you
I say: "I love you, dear dad"
You say: "Its only fair .... it is your duty"
I give you a hug
... You give me no one back
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015
Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair
Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee
Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark
She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?
To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife
Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest
And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear
And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber
She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee
Copyright © Nina Hernandez | Year Posted 2010
Stepping out of the car, my father and I
after a shattering night
the skies were a dismal gray
The end of the world had taken all the light away
And dawn had taken all hope, and then had sucked all the air away
Even tears had nowhere to land
Frozen thick in our throats like dry desert sand
If just one would escape, how could they stop? ...no shoulder, ...no dam
My Dad was in shock, as he stood by the gate,
a glaze in his eyes, ...... and a million years old
My feet froze in place, my knees shivered cold
but without hesitation, I grabbed hold of his hand
I took him inside, and with deliberate intrusion
I fed him some soup, and put him to bed
He was the child, and I the adult
Day after day, somehow by default
our roles were reversed, ...and I became strong
My childhood had ended,.....and his had begun
For "The Fault Line" Contest
sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
Last leg home, the sun setting in the polluted haze of the city,
looks Like I feel, my thoughts a golden glow, every brushstroke
I've painted filling the sky with my love for you...a painting
that will begin anew....with the sunrise
........with the sunrise
Though your footprints belong to you,
my heart..... travels your path
Endless, as it should be,
your destiny rewards my memory
-for Brian's INTERVALS contest....COLOURS/PERCEPTION/HARMONY
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
Busy getting ready to go to a meeting
I was looking through my closet for something to wear
My 20 year old daughter, Shereen, was in my bedroom
Showing me her new clothes
I marveled at her
What a body
What a beautiful woman
Her curves were to die for
Her thin waist set off her other assets to perfection
Such a womanly figure
Her black raven hair fell in big waves to her waist
She commanded attention
Her pencil thin skirt set her curves off to perfection
What a beauty!
I loved showing her off to the world
Just that day I had told her
She was a living goddess
Rushing to get ready
My mind was on finding something quickly
When her words totally threw me…
This paragon of beauty said to me:
“Mama, I was just looking at you earlier today.
You are so sexy
You have wonderful curves.
What you were wearing really set them off nicely.”
This 47 year old overweight woman
I looked at my daughter
Who is brutally honest
The one I turn to when I need an opinion
"How was the solo I sang in Church? Did I go off key?
Does this color suit me?
Am I being unreasonable?"
To all my questions she'd answer with truth, not mincing words
She'd call me on some actions that she thought were "childish"
"You're overreacting, MOM! Stop being a Drama Queen!"
And here she was saying...
"You're so pretty, Mama!"
Because I know she doesn’t hide the truth
I felt like my heart would burst
It may not seem like much to you all
But those words….
Filled that hurting place in my heart
That little place where insecurity has set up a home
Where walls echoe of coming age...and lessened desirability
That place where memories of who I was
Mock and jeer the reality of who I am
Deep in my heart
The words settled in
And for a time
Chased all the ugly away
and gave me back my glow
exuding out in my stride
and they way I carried myself
Those words reminded me
That age is an attitude
That the inner woman
The INNER woman doesn’t change
She is ageless
A few words….
But what a big gift
my daughter gave me today!
I know it's hard for men to understand the sheer agony a woman goes through when she realizes that time is passing her by. That certain age where menopause reminds you that fertility is a thing of the past and beauty is slipping away. Men don't understand....They just get better as they age...more handsome. The ravages to a woman's heart are extreme. Seeing white pepper your hair....changes to your figure...little wrinkles around the eyes. It hurts, but we need to accept it with grace. I never thought it would upset me so, but I'm trying to cope and it's all the lovely comments I get that make me able to go on. Just this evening, I got another such boost when a family friend who is visiting my brother from abroad said, "Hello, Pudding" when he saw me! What a delightful comment! :) I'm, sweet, jiggly, and yummy! ;) It's all attitude...and I got plenty of THAT!
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
then pressed into silence
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
Copyright © Soulfire | Year Posted 2011
(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
MAMA CRY NO MORE
The most tender I have ever known
The world of never you created
Best example of love a lesson learnt
Mama cry no more
Stranger no more am I to this world
Mama I have learnt its tricks
The hills are lower now, the tunnels are brighter
Mama cry no more
Mama let me dry your tears
I will pop the toaster, crunch the flakes
Spread the marmalade, bubble your bath tub
Mama cry no more
The jet is ready, your ticket at hand
The line will dress you up with the queen’s taste
The fruits of your labour, its time you had the taste
Mama cry no more.
Copyright © ESTHER MUCHAI | Year Posted 2014
This is the story of a real murder . . .
I was just five years old and was in my bedroom playing,
we had just moved into to this cozy little basement apartment;
mommy was talking to a man, who was yelling something about money,
then everything went quiet and I came to see what was happening.
Mommy was laying on the floor with eyes like my dolls,
lifeless, and this man I had seen before was standing there;
I ran to mommy, "wake up mommy wake up!" But she was so still,
the man told me he would take me to my daddy who lived not far.
Crying and weeping for my mommy and daddy loudly,
the man told me to, "shut up!" But I couldn't I was afraid;
he stopped the car near a huge field and pulled me out shouting,
I dropped my teddy on the side of the road and I was fighting him.
When mommy did not show up for work the police came,
they found her body and knew she had been murdered;
an amber alert was issued for me (but I was already long dead),
after three days they found my lifeless body in that rural field.
Hundreds gathered for our funeral, family and strangers,
there was music and dancing because we loved to dance;
the talkers were full of thoughts and memories and even poems,
me and mommy were united in life and would be forever in death.
The man had dragged me into the field and I was yelling,
yelling for daddy to come and then he stopped my voice;
he put his hands on my throat and then threw my small body,
as I lay there looking up with dead eyes- there was a rainbow.
I saw a double rainbow and then my beautiful mommy,
was holding me, I asked her why that man murdered us,
she told me, "because I owed him money and I made a mistake,"
our spirits will live on she said, but we will not rest in peace yet,
she whispered, "soon, my daughter we will dance again in heaven . . . "
August 12, 2016
For the Premiere contest, Through Their Eyes #2
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016
The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me,
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation;
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe,
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion,
And he went around naming everything;
From the mountains and the canyons,
To the Summer and the Spring;
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
And as he traveled everywhere searching,
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
And there he heard a woman singing,
Her song was a thing of beauty,
About the home she was making for them;
Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally,
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from;
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
Their union gave life to four sons,
Each of their sons went a different way,
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet,
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North;
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun,
He learned that fire is the essence of life;
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife;
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”,
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red;
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands,
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life;
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife.
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
How my culture was started, And what our banner means.
~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~
~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2010
From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated,
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.
Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other,
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.
Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf.
I couldn't blame my mother
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.
He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling,
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.
Copyright © Emerson Adkins | Year Posted 2012
deprived of a father to tell her that her skirts to small
she wore it to hug her hips and rise with every sway in her walk
her mother, another statistic of having babies to young,
was to whipped in her dip trying to be hip so she cheered her poor child on
she's dying to survive in a broken home
daddy not around to watch her spend a penny and mamas hardly home
she's dying to survive and she's put her school on hold
she's another undereducated black child with no priorities or goals
she careers soliciting her body, making it hobby to walk up and down blocks
waiting for the right brotha she can sweet talk and pick pocket
at the honk of his horn, she stops hot trotting
hopped in his car and found a quiet spot for lip locking
her hand rises up his leg, she feels for his man
he nods giving her consent
she prices her body for those new Jordan and dolce & gabbani
she'd rather rock the latest fashions then to feed her starving body
she's hopelessly devoted to being the hottest at the parties
she's dying to survive wanting attention to feel the space neglected by another
who makes alcohol a hobby
she's dying to survive rich living is her poverty
she's deaf to her inner voice that yells to her it's wrong
she confides in bad associates who cheer her on
she doesn't know this is how she's dying
she's dying to survive
Copyright © amber causey | Year Posted 2006
It was a day like no other,
The day I became a Mother.
Nothing else even compares
To have God answer my prayers.
An Angel sent from up above,
Who was conceived out of so much love.
She's so precious and so very sweet,
All the way from her head to her feet.
Ten little fingers and ten little toes,
Pretty blue eyes and the cutest nose.
And as we shared our very first touch,
I knew I'd love her so very much.
For when I held her that very first time,
I had never felt so much alive.
No feeling like it anywhere on Earth,
Seeing this new life, giving birth.
Such a joyous day, yet scary too,
Becoming "Mommy" was all so new.
Having doubts and so many fears,
To raise this child for eighteen years.
To keep her safe, away from harm,
Making her secure within my arms.
She's the love of my life, made it complete,
Filled in the emptiness, makes my heart beat.
She's my breath, my soul and my song,
Without her I could not go on.
There's a special bond that we share,
Which these days seems so rare.
Mothers and Daughters aren't as close,
No communication, acting like ghosts.
But what we have will never fade,
Keeping the trust that we made,
Never forgetting to always say,
"I love you" every day.
To me, she's perfect in every way,
Making that the most perfect day.
Stephanie Elaine, my sweetheart,
We will never, ever be apart.
(My Daughter 3/1998)
Copyright © Jamie Ball | Year Posted 2008
You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit
We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you
You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love
If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2014
It had been two days since Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring
On that cold December night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs,
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
Then, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"We'll find another one, just like it"
Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Glen Campbell – A Special Person
It was September 4th, 1968 and I threw an empty suitcase into the trunk of my car, telling Joan, my daughter, that I might not be home to celebrate her birthday. She would turn 13 the following day and Wanda, my wife, had planned something special. As I dropped her off at school she had no clue as to what was in store.
Joan had become an ardent fan of a young Glen Campbell and he was due to be in town that very night for a concert. We led Joan to believe we had given up all hopes of taking her to see him since my travel plans would probably keep me out of town that night. Joan reconciled herself to the distinct possibility she would not be in attendance at his concert. She was a very understanding young lady.
When I returned home that evening, Joan was advised we would celebrate her upcoming birthday with a simple dinner out and maybe a movie. As we drove, Joan was very animated and proceeded to tell us of all the activity of the day. She didn’t pay much attention to where we were headed. Her chatter told us she wasn’t on to our plan.
Well, when we approached the Music Hall in Houston, TX Joan realized where we were and became so excited I thought she was going to faint. She shrieked with joy and showed the textbook signs of one about to see their idol. I don’t believe we had ever seen her so excited.
Wanda had managed to reserve some wonderful seats, center stage 3 rows back. We took our seats and soon were enjoying watching our daughter watch this young performer transform the audience, mostly young people, into an almost hypnotic state. We had joined Joan as fans of this young man from Arkansas. He was really putting on a great show. But something special was about to happen.
He finished the first half of his show and we sat there and listened to Joan excitedly chatter about what was taking place.
About halfway through the 2nd half Glenn pulled up a stool, sat down and asked, “Is there a Miss Joan Posey in the audience?” Joan was literally dumbfounded. We acknowledged to Glen that indeed she was here. Glen looked at here and said, “Well, tomorrow you’ll become a teenybopper. This one is for you.” He proceeded to sing “Hey, Little One” and there were probably as many tears in Dad’s eyes as in Joan’s. Her insistent question was, “How did he know?” repeated time after time.
Wanda, in her fantastic way of pulling off the impossible, had written to Glen Campbell, in care of the Music Hall, and told him of Joan’s upcoming birthday. It would mean a lot to her if he could only wish her a happy birthday. It was a long shot and he only received the letter some 2 hours before show time. Someone on his staff picked up on it and took it from there. He finished and instantly became a very special person to two proud parents. Joan became an instant VIP since almost half her class had been in attendance. It was a most memorable time and Glen Campbell will always have a special spot in our hearts…. Jake
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013
As I woke up this morning
instantly I begun mourning
For I should be holding you this special day
but I know that there is no possible way
Wondering if you'd think that I would forget
is just one more thing I am left to regret
I pray that we will be re-united together again real soon
till then I've blown you a birthday kiss I sent via the moon
Overwhelmed I feel as if I love you even more today
yes today is special after all it is your birthday
But I couldn't forget you no if's, but's or maybe
for you were blessed forever to be my baby
You are now my six year old baby little girl
and no one on Earth could ever love you as well
Known now for eternity making this a very special day
t'was only this day you became my daughter in every way
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
Pity her as she cried
On the floor, ragged, she lied
She's covered with odd bruises
And hell things on mind cruises
She was there left alone
Mourning for help at home.
Hungry and parched she was,
Hoping someone would pass
“Click! Click!”, the door knob sounds
At last someone’s around.
Who’s there? Who could that be?
At last! She will be free!
But it widened her eyes
Scared and again she cried
‘Twas a man who appeared
Went to her and she feared.
He touched her hair and said
“Hush! Hush! Just go to bed
Stay quite, don’t be a heck!”
And kissed her on the neck.
Poor girl, she just abide
To the man whom she feared
“Why is he doing this?
I’m his daughter, why’s this?”
In the bedroom they were;
Father started kissing her.
Poor lil girl can’t defy
If she speak up, she’ll die.
“Oh my Lord, please help me,
I can’t take it, save me.”
Said her mind as tears flowed
Grieving in pain; she moaned.
Then suddenly she smiled
From what she heard outside.
A sudden hope in her eyes gleamed
From something she perceived.
She heard her mother’s voice
"I'll be saved" she rejoiced
“A miracle for me
Lord replied to my plea.”
And the door opened
Mother saw what happened
Shocked and startled she was
Then screamed for help, at last!
Mother bellowed and slapped him
Outraged and said to him
“She is your daughter!
Why did you rape her?”
Then neighbors came
Naked -- poor girl was ashamed
Dazed and shaken they were
Staring at poor girl and her father.
Then two cops came along
Grabbed the father for his wrong
He panicked and dreaded
Denied all he acted
Livid and offended
Lil girl stood and stated
“Oh yes, that man raped me,
Not just once but many times.”
Then her father uttered
“My dish is my daughter.
I’m the one who made her,
So I should also taste her.”
Wretched from what she heard
She spoke not a single word
Woeful and quite, she sniveled
Suddenly collapsed and fell
At last poor girl’s now free
From nightmare and agony
Yes she has a father
But she’s his dish not his daughter.
Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez | Year Posted 2013
Little Laila was on overnight visits to Grandma
Early in the morning Grandma made Sunday breakfast
Little Laila came into the kitchen where the smell of
freshly cooked coffee, freshly baked bread....and "boiled egg"
Little Laila does not like eggs....and says to her Grandma
"I do not want eggs - do not like eggs"
But Grandma had not boiled eggs
she had farted and it smelled like eggs
Grandma got a good laugh
And I hope you will laugh at this too.... :)
Anne-Lise Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(5th in the contest)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012
Written by: Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.
To My Mother Hazel
Thanks for that Memorable Day
This poem is specifically
Being written just for you
I requested it from a friend
For she knows just what to do
That special day we spent together
Is so very memorable for me, I’d say
I want it to be memorable for you too
With a poem written in a rhyming way
We’ve had our ups and downs in life
With probably most of them being down
You raised me to know how life can be
Not easy to cope, with down things all around
Well I’ve stepped up to a new level
To be happy no matter what the hell
Of any negative surroundings to be
I live thankful that my life is all well
That special day started out so bad for me
As I was headed for back injections again
I was really happy you were taking me there
With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin
It seemed like the first time in a very long time
Where we just enjoyed each other that day
You were kind of like that sweet rose
One stops to smell along the way
In this path I have traveled
Through many overgrown weeds
It was refreshing and pleasant this time
With no discussion of what someone needs
We got along together talking and laughing
It gave me such a lasting good impression
We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards
I sure hope you had just as much fun
I want you to know how much
I appreciate this time we spent together
Making this a most memorable day for me
To truly cherish for always and forever
Now let me tell you, that day did get worse
With everyone putting me down everywhere
You were the rose amongst the trash talkers
It felt good to know my Mom really does care
Even if everything dips to the downside
Within the journeys of my life I may go through
No one could ever take our shared moments away
They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you
I had the best time with me and my Mom
If I told the world, that’s what I’d say
So I really want to thank you Mom
For that most memorable day
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2012
I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly;
unfilled, purposeless, full of potential
"What to do? What to do???" I mutter,
tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole.
My hands push down ballooning petticoats,
careful not to show or touch anything.
I twirl beneath the pile down comforters.
The hours tick by crimson red
and in the dream,
the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!"
An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face.
It falls matted and to the ground leaving me,
brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified.
"What to do? What to do? What to do???"
Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born?
A painter's pallet appears before me.
A brow is drawn… for me.
Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on.
"Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
Their rending cries, when all is still, reecho in the moonlight;
They lie about in fitful slumber on the ground at noonlight,
Their virgin hair spread in the dust; for nothing really matters:
Who then will see their tangled locks, their dresses all in tatters,
The myriad trails of tears on dusty faces robbed of gladness,
The haunted eyes all swollen red, such depthless pools of sadness?
It seems that they could melt the rocks to tears of lamentation,
There being not a hope for fair Celena's preservation.
Both months have passed; the time has come. Celena must be going;
She wanders to her father's house, while dreading, fully knowing
The manner and the time of death; she sees the gory vision
Of being bound, awaiting fate for Jephthah's poor decision;
Her trusting eyes both fixed on his, both filled with untold torture;
The final sight her eyes will see before her soul's departure:
Yet still she presses on, determined, lest the Lord in fury
Rain down his wrath for promise broken in a deadly flurry
On father and his wife and daughter, nation, tribe, and village,
And curse their life and health and plenty, oxen, sheep, and tillage
With sword or pestilence or famine, plague or deportation;
Thus one, though innocent, must die to ransom all her nation.
Beside his doorway Jephthah stands, all torn with deep confliction
Between the hope that she'd been killed, or lost her path's direction,
And longing just to see again his daughter, but for fleeting
Bitter moments, and to chisel in his mind the soft, yet wild beating
Of her heart against his own. Alas! A heart cast down in sorrow,
Dread, and fear: a heart run short of precious moments which to borrow.
Look! There she comes; the tearful maiden, followed by companions;
Bedraggled garments torn, and faces streaked with dust of canyons.
The bravest of them turn away with looks of wretched terror,
Departing to their distant homes, while trembling footsteps bear her
To where he stands, and wordlessly in this, their final parting,
Embraces her, and feels each heartbeat softly, wildly beating;
While that of his is softly, wildly, e'er so slowly bleeding.
Then hand in hand they tread together to the highest hilltop;
In Jephthah's grasp a wicked knife and fresh-picked bunch of hyssop.
With leather cord he binds her tight and lays her on the altar:
He takes in hand the fearsome blade, but there his fingers falter;
For sapphire eyes, Celena's eyes, into his own are bearing,
And seeing hurt and pain and fear, his firm resolve is tearing.
Jephthah's visage wilts and quavers, as if he would save Celena;
Then she speaks, his brave Celena, dutiful and grave Celena,
"Father, do it! Slay me now! E'er resolve is gone forever:
E'er I break and cry for mercy; then you know that you could never
Do this deed of you required." He with one last look of dolor
Into eyes so wide and fearful, thrust the knife and crimson color
Spread and trickled from her chest. So there it was! The deed completed.
There one moment, gone the next. The only thing he really needed
Frittered on a foolish vow. His only joy, his only child
Pale and still, and in her place a torture aye unreconciled.
Shaking fingers set the purest, sweetest offering afire,
Half expecting, hoping, wishing, as the hungry flames grew higher
That his precious sleeping daughter waken from her dreamless slumber;
But, alas! She ne'er could waken. Now he must be of the number
Whose lineage drifts away with them; who know no satisfaction:
Thus Jephthah grasped the wicked blade with sudden thought of action
And cut a yard-long lock of hair before the flame consumed her,
Then faced away; he could not face the awful way he'd doomed her;
Instead he snapped the blade in two and fell down by the altar
Crying, "Take this shame away from me, O Lord! And do not fault her
For dying in this time and fashion; let the blame be solely carried
By myself: oh, let her spirit live in peace!" And then he buried
His weeping head into his helpless arms, and kept on sobbing
Until the flames had burnt to cinders, thus forever robbing
Him of the chance of ever seeing sweet Celena's features.
Then he arose and stumbled home, not seeing all the creatures
Who stood their ground in utter silence, crying for Celena;
Nor all the girls at every doorfront, sighing for Celena;
Thus never knew but one man's heart was dying for Celena.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015
Mother more than just a word; my mother is where my life began. My mother
protected me from the world bonding together from the beginning. Safely tucked
away I would spend the next nine months listening to her heart beat, gently
floating in water. Our blood would mix and nourishment she supplied to me.
My world and hers suddenly changed when my birth came about. No matter the pain
we both endured, comfort quickly came as I found my way into her arms! Together
we would make our way in this world as nothing compares to the love of my mother.
We listened to the birds singing, watched the lightning bugs, and talked of things
on earth and heaven. My mother taught me love and gentleness’. Early in life I
developed a sixth sense. I knew, “I had a guardian angel” and “God was always
Growing up was not so easy and I made many mistakes. Many times I did not
understand my mother and swore she could not love me. I was looking through the
eyes of a child and did not look through hers till aged and wiser!
My mother continued to love me forgiving my blunders in life for we bonded early
when my heart first began to beat. With the passing of time my mother proud and
supportive always tells me of her love for me. At times when I look in the mirror,
looking back at me is my mother!
I know life as I know one day may end however; my mother and I having shared
life from the start will always be bonded in the heart. My mother gave from her
heart and soul. Now to you my mother, in your honor; I dedicate and give this poem
with all my love from all my heart!
Your, Daughter Debbie
July 20, 2011
Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011
I was once in your womb
Pain of giving birth was like
One foot in the tomb
The bout that you needed to ease
Because I might be lost
If you don't fight to cease
Thank you for rocking me unceasingly
Thank you for feeding me
In the middle of the night tirelessly
The naval that I see
Is evident that you never gave up on me
I love you so much Mommy
Thank you for your unconditional love
You are my hero Mommy
Sshhh don't tell Daddy Mommy!
I love you too Daddy!
And you are the King and Queen of my heart.
September 30, 2015
Copyright © Meline Ngo | Year Posted 2015
Billie, there is not one person alive who has not sinned or made mistakes.
And everyone in life sooner or later experiences heartaches.
No one is without fault, and it’s next to impossible to be perfect.
We all have our little quirks, we each have our own little defect.
Being perfect is not what God is looking for, but to turn from sin and turn to Him.
Learn to walk in His light, that is what will make you proper and prim.
You must follow Gods commandments and do not stray.
And when you feel yourself slipping turn to Jesus and pray.
Let Him know what’s going on, and that you need His help again.
Tell Him you are trying to turn your life around, one that’s free from sin.
Learn to put your trust in our Savior for that is what He is, Our Savior.
When we know it’s wrong and we go right on ahead, there is a good chance
this could be unforgivable behavior.
I personally cannot understand why someone would intentionally do wrong.
Listen to your conscience, pray, and God will make you strong.
Bill, mom and dad have never stopped loving or caring about you, never will!
This poem I wrote just for you to let you know just how we feel.
GOD LOVES YOU AND SO DO WE MOM & DAD
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007
What makes a child feel closer to one parent rather than to the other?
Although love bound me to the heart of my mother,
it was to my Father's side that I chose to cling.
He was always the first up in the morning, even before the sun.
He knew as a farmer, his work in the fields was never done.
I remember my first day of school. He was the bus driver.
Timid little me, I looked out the window and there he was,
peering back at me. I ran from the room and into his arms.
After a hug he looked me in the eye and said. "Don't cry."
I thought I was home free,
but my Dad took me by the hand and walked me back to my desk.
My Dad, he always knew how to handle me.
I wanted no part of housework.
To the fields I followed him after school.
It was our time to talk about our dreams, problems, whatever was on our minds.
He never stopped, not even after open heart surgery...twice.
It slowed him down, but never made him quit.
I watched the strength in him fade away,
day after day he lost the battle of ill health.
His kidneys were shutting down and he finally lost his will to live.
The last time he opened his eyes I kissed him goodbye and he could only smile.
That night he went into a coma and I prayed to God that He let him die.
I've never felt guilty about those prayers.
I'd already lost my Father to sleep.
I have no bad memories of my Dad.
He was never the one to dole out a spanking.
He was my buddy; my hero in every sense of the over used word.
We hunted together~ he taught me to drive a tractor ~ I could go on.
He loved me as much as I still love him.
I was blessed to have such a wonderful father, and grandfather to my children.
December 31st, 2015 Tell About your Dad Contest: Sponsor: Judy Konos
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
I dreamt of my Father whom passed 3 years ago,
as I awoke , he was standing with his beige silk business slacks on
In truth, it may have been not a dream but his ghost telling me something ..
he was a fine looking man and this time with no illness,
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
over 15 years the last time I saw my Father , he called to tell me Grandma passed"
His beautiful Mother, and he wanted me present at her Funeral processions.
I was important to him and my Grandmother , as my children were too.
His heart was broken as we all are not exempt from pain in our lives..
So his presence was much different then the last visit alive.
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
he was here to tell me something
his face beautiful and luminance with a certain serenity
he appeared just before I awoke in full form
The beige pants, nice shoes, Italian, a white shirt underneath that sweater
I remember the sweater being of a fine make, cashmere and purple..
I never wanted my Fathers money when he passed , just a sweater , his scent
being refused to grieve with my siblings and blood , refused any little thing of his
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
I love you too Dad , Your youngest girl.
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013